


Forget The Horror (Leave It All Down Here)

by Endgame Schmendgame (RenegadeLemon)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Big Brother Peter Parker, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Depressed Peter Parker, Fix-It, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Morgan Stark Needs a Hug, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Y'all know what we're talking about, and a pretty shitty PB&J sandwich, brother-sister bonding, idk - Freeform, in this house we ignore canon, it's just heavily implied that maybe SOMETHING didn't happen, morgan stark GETS a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-02-08 18:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenegadeLemon/pseuds/Endgame%20Schmendgame
Summary: A small balm for broken hearts after Endgame.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is this fic named after Spanish Sahara? Yes. 
> 
> Am I back on my bullshit? Always.
> 
> Did Tony Stark die at the end of Endgame? HELL no. 
> 
> Thank you.

The steady patter of rain against the window is a pleasant distraction that fills the heavy silence throughout the cozy lake house.

 

He joins the waking world to find his forehead pressed against the cool glass of a comfortably cushioned bay window in a room that he’s never been in, but remains familiar in its decorative touches. He’s curled up under too many blankets, and snuggled in clothes that are too soft. The post-battle rain had made the air frigid against his face, wracking his frame with violent tremors that did well hide his tears and trembles as he tried to calm his frayed and overloaded nerves.

 

He remembered the pain of dying. He had remembered the excruciating agony of being slammed into consciousness once again.

 

It was nothing compared to the thought of losing Tony.

 

Everything was too loud, too bright, too grating. He felt as though his skin was being torn from the bone with sandpaper. Every scent hit him all at once, causing him to gag. His throat choked on a would-be scream, and the tears that ran down his face felt like twin trails of burning acid as his lungs refused to fill with air.

 

Someone above him tried to hold him back with alarming strength, his brain vaguely processing a sort of robotic whir behind him, and every movement caused an avalanche of agony to ripple through his frame. He flinched violently from the large suit hand that tried to hold him back, and curled his own arms around his shaking frame in a weak attempt of comfort. He finally managed a gasp after a moment, too distracted with gulping air into his lungs, that the fight left his body. He tried desperately to calm his shuddering breaths, coughing hard through broken, heaving sobs and attempting to focus on anything but the pain.

 

“There you go, spider-kid, you’re okay…you’re doing great.”

 

He whimpered, the voice rattling loudly through his skull, before he dared to crack one eye open. The blurry form above him still had its hand on his face, thumb wiping away the tears running down his face in the pursuit to coax them open. He complied, and was met with the extremely concerned and tear-stained face of James Rhodes.

 

His mind drifted into autopilot after that.

 

Now, back in this room at the house, he lets himself unwind in the warmth provided under the many duvets. The room is dark, and the late evening rainstorm allows him to relax comfortably with the blinds open. The sweater he wears is old⏤ _MIT_ , and smells of coffee and motor oil⏤and it is the softest fabric he’s ever felt against his skin. The duvet covers are flannel, warm, and cozy. He notices that at some point his right wrist had been tightly wrapped in a scratchy bandaged brace, his knuckles covered in bandaids, and that most of his face aches as he vaguely watches the rain droplets glide against the glass and the lightning dance in the sky.

 

He reminds himself that the horror is over for now.

 

The soft click of the door behind him alerts him to the new presence in his room. The gentle, soft padding of socked feet across the luxurious carpet grows closer to his little nook, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to feign sleep.

 

A gentle but persistent tug at the blankets around his shoulders is enough to let him know that they haven’t fallen for it. He sighs and opens his eyes and drops them to find two large, brown eyes staring directly back into his. She’s a tiny thing, barely four years old, but she holds every ounce of her father’s persistence and charisma that Peter is silent for a moment.

 

“...Can I help you?” he croaks tentatively, unsure of why this little girl would be coming to _him_ of all people.

 

She purses her lips and fixes him with a dissatisfied glare. “Daddy _said_ that if I needed anything, I could always ask my Big Brother.” Her lisp is precious, and Peter would be fawning under different circumstances but it had also been said like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and that Peter is the dumbest kid in history for having asked her to explain.

 

_EXACTLY like her father._

 

Peter just blinks at her. 

 

“You _are_ my Big Brother aren’t you?” She asks, incredulous and unshakeable.

 

Peter still doesn’t know how to respond, his ears ringing and breath caught in his throat. The little girl merely heaves a dramatic sigh and grabs his hand, destined to get him to stand.

 

“I’m hungry and Mommy and Uncle Happy are in Daddy’s room right now and they won’t let me in so I need _you_ to help me reach the peanut butter.”

 

“O...kay…” He finally says, uncurling his aching body from the window to stand. He notices the chill in the room the moment the blankets fall to the window sill and he’s on two slightly unsteady feet. His right side aches with bruises, and his entire rib cage is surely creaking at this point.

 

The girl is holding his hand and staring at him again, her other hand balled over her heart into the fabric of her pajama shirt. She’s frowning gently now, looking at him expectantly with the biggest and saddest puppy eyes he’s ever seen. He clears his throat before he takes a deep breath and nods his head. He grabs her under the armpits and picks her up to settle comfortably against his left hip.

 

It’s strange, he finds, how easy it is for this little girl to fit right against him, resting her little head against his shoulder and hiding her face in the crook of his neck. His arms instinctively wrap around her more securely, and he breathes in the scent of her blueberry shampoo.

 

He makes his way through the hallway and limps down the stairs. He pointedly ignores the clatter coming from the room at the end of the hallway.

 

He can’t think about that right now.

 

When he and his cargo get to the kitchen, the lights are already on and Carol, Rhodes, Steve, Bucky, and Sam are sitting at the kitchen table in silence over cups of coffee, and everyone else is scattered throughout the living room.

 

He feels the girl press her face further into his neck and tighten her hold on him, surely feeling shy around the large number of people currently invading her home. He ignores the brief swell of pride at knowing she at least considers _him_ to be a source of comfort.

 

He rests his left cheek against the top of her head and ignores the now-prominent stares of everyone around them and focuses on his task at finding the peanut butter. Once he grabs it from the top shelf of the pantry, he grabs the bread and some strawberry jam from the fridge. He settles the girl on the counter and makes her a sandwich as best as he can with a probably-broken wrist.

 

Everyone is watching in stunned silence, and he makes it a mission to pretend that no one is there. The girl is also definitely judging his work, but says nothing. When he’s finished he cuts the crusts off and stares right into her eyes before he shoves all of them into his mouth. She’s shocked and giggles lightly at first before it develops into full belly laughter, and he finds the sound is contagious. Giggles are bubbling up his throat, and he’s laughing through bread, jam, and peanut butter, crumbs spewing everywhere as he attempts to cut the sandwich diagonally before plating it and handing it to her.

 

They both settle down a bit, and she seems satisfied with his work because she’s munching on the sandwich in silence, but still staring at him with a little grin.

 

He puts everything away while she finishes up, and then takes her plate to the sink to rinse it once she’s finished. He lifts her once again and notices that she’s far more lethargic now.

 

“Alright, kiddo, whaddya say? Bed time?” and the tiny yawn says far more than the small nod against his collarbone. He settles her against his left side once more and silently nods a goodnight to everyone else before heading upstairs.

 

Once up the stairs, he feels her tighten her hold as he passes his room to go to hers. He pauses in the hallway; there’s still a frantic commotion in the bedroom at the end of the hall, and he can understand why she might not want to be closer to it.

 

Heaving a resigned sigh, he turns around and heads back to his room.

 

He settles her on the bed, and she curls up immediately. He grabs the duvets from the window and climbs in next to her, pulling the blankets up to cover both of them. She wiggles around a bit, and decides she is uncomfortable until she rolls over and curls into Peter’s side.

 

He freezes and stares at her, robotically wrapping his arms around her again as she snuggles closer. There’s undoubtedly drool on his collarbone already and her soft delicate snores encompass the room and fill him with a sense of ease for the first time in hours.

 

He sighs and relaxes his head back against the pillows.

 

He realizes he doesn’t even know her name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't’ know much much time has passed, he only knows that the sky grows brighter by the second, the rain has yet to settle, and the tiny snores against his neck and the persistent and ever-growing migraine behind his eyes have been his only companions for the past few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm back! thank you so so so much for your comments, I'm truly humbled! 
> 
> Here's a brief second chapter, and as always, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Love you!

“So he’s stable, then?” asks Happy, leaning tiredly against the wall beside the bedroom door. Rhodey is collapsed in the armchair in the corner, and Pepper is seated diligently by Tony’s side as Helen Cho concludes her assessment.

 

“For now, at least. His organs are damaged, there’s no doubt about that, but they’re repairing themselves well enough. Even so, he might never regain full mobility.”

 

Cho made an emergency visit with a miracle dosage of Extremis just in the nick of time it would seem, and she’s managed to pull off the damn near impossible. Still, the three nod in grim understanding. It’s still pouring rain outside and Tony is wrapped head-to-toe in thick bandages, and he’s got almost every machine available hooked up to him to monitor his vitals.

 

“I’ve got a team of doctors on their way right now, and we’ll be watching him around the clock for the weeks to come. But he’s alive, so I’d recommend you guys get some rest while he’s out.”

 

A collective sigh of relief fills the room, and Rhodey’s head falls into his hands as Happy’s head lightly rests against the door frame.

 

“Thank you, again, Helen; I honestly don’t know what we would ever do without you.” Pepper smiles through relieved tears. Helen merely politely waves her off.

 

“It’s fine. Just get some rest, please.”

 

Pepper’s reigning in her emotions when a thought occurs to her, “Goodness, oh...um, I should...I’m gonna go check on Junior. She’s probably up by now, and⏤and I should g-get her some breakfa⏤”

 

Happy jumps in when she starts to stand on shaky legs, “Don’t worry about it, boss. I’ve got it. You just take a moment.”

 

“The Kids are probably in Peter’s room.” Rhodey supplies helpfully through his fingers.

 

All eyes fall on him and a beat passes.

 

“W-what?” Pepper manages, brows knitting together in confusion.

 

Rhodey nods, head lifting as a tired, but fond smile stretches across his face. “Yup. She even managed to coax him out of his room” Happy and Pepper share a look of surprise at this and Rhodey continues, “something about being hungry, I think, because we were all sitting downstairs and he just sat her down and made her a sandwich. Didn’t even acknowledge anyone else. Just made her a sandwich, acted a little silly to get her to laugh, and then put her to bed.”

 

The silence stretches for a moment too long before everyone bursts into laughter. Pepper sniffles and wipes tears from her eyes as she chuckles and nods. “Yeah that sounds like her.”

 

“Sounds like Pete, too.” Happy says with a resigned chuckle. “I’ll go check on the kids, then.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn't’ know much much time has passed, he only knows that the sky grows brighter by the second, the rain has yet to settle, and the tiny snores against his neck and the persistent and ever-growing migraine behind his eyes have been his only companions for the past few hours.

 

He can tell his sense are trying to acclimate themselves to the living world once again⏤a thought he cannot linger on for too long at a time⏤and the result is an unpleasant and persistent ache in his ears and nose. Sounds are too heavy and smells are too sharp. He can hear every shuffle and step down the hall and every whispered voice in the kitchen downstairs. The smell of coffee burns in his nostrils as a wave of nausea falls over him in a cold sweat. He’s thankful that the outside storm provides a brief reprieve from the agony of sunlight, but he knows it’s only a small mercy.

 

His mind kept circling back to one horrible thought:

 

Losing Ben was the single-most painful moment in Peter Parker’s life.

 

He’s no stranger to loss; everyone knows that. But the overwhelming guilt had crippled his soul for months after his Uncle’s death. The thought of losing Tony once again ripped that wound on his heart wide open, and he _bled_.

 

He learned learned two very important lessons very early in life: first, that the easiest way to deal with your feelings was to not deal with them at all; and the second being that going to bed and falling asleep are two very different things. He had gone to bed, Little Stark curled into his side, and yet he couldn’t seem to find the will to close his eyes. He ached all over, wounds both physical and emotional continuously pestering him. He longed for a moment’s peace, just a small pocket of time where he could leave his thoughts behind and sleep. The only reason he had been able to pull himself through Ben’s loss was because May had⏤

 

May.

 

It’s with nauseating clarity that Peter realizes he has no idea if May survived. He has no way of knowing if she had to live five years without him, where she is, how to contact her. His heart is in his throat and he’s trying to calm his growing panic, but he’s suddenly sweating and he wants to cry all over again, and⏤

 

There’s a gentle knock at the door before it opens. The creak of the hinges sound like metal scraping against metal against his tortured ears, and he barely manages to stifle a whimper.

 

“Pete? You awake?”

 

In the onslaught of new sounds and his wave of emotions, Peter screws his eyes shut and grits his teeth, his previous concerns momentarily forgotten as he tries to mollify the fresh spikes of agony radiating through his skull. Whoever is in the doorway seems to notice his quickly escalating stress and is hurrying to pick up the little girl still resting diligently against his chest.

 

“Oh sh⏤hang in there, kid, I’ll be right back” the voice says again, before they exit. Peter can only focus on trying to even his breathing and calm his erratic heart. Even the grinding of his teeth is Too Much and he can’t help the sob that escapes him when he manages to finally gasp.

 

_Panic attack_ , his brain supplies helpfully. He can hear every heartbeat in this god forsaken house and before he knows it there are tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes. There are raised voices downstairs, and he curls up on his side facing away from the door and clamps his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to quiet everything around him. Still, the roar of his own blood pounding through his head gives him no solace.

 

He can hear two sets of feet climbing the stairs quickly before two people enter his room again, and he feels them settle in front of him by the bed. He still isn’t breathing properly when a gentle hand firmly but gently grasps his shaking shoulder and the other reaches into his hair. He dares to crack one eye open and meets the very close and focused stare of Doctor Strange kneeling in front of him, and glances up to see Happy’s concerned face watching from a few feet away.

 

Doctor Strange is muttering words he doesn’t recognize and he can feel his mind slipping. As his vision blackens around the edges, he looks directly at happy and can only get out a broken "May..." before he finally loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I pulling most of this crap directly out of my ass? Absolutely. However, I do have a plan for the next chapter(s?), so stay tuned!
> 
> Let me know what you think, and I'll see you next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world moved on. The reality of this new life is that even though trillions of lives ended, the universe still moved forward. It moved forward without him. Mr. Stark moved on without him, and the proof is that little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just take it lmao. 
> 
> I am months-late, but only because this chapter has been rewritten about 893,456 times. I have HAD IT lol.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, and I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes I managed to make (fixed a few things after publishing).
> 
> Bone Apple Teeth.

May Parker has faced her fair share of complications and difficulties in her life: adopting her newly-orphaned six year old nephew, the untimely death of her beloved husband Ben, even finding out her aforementioned nephew leads a double life as a super-powered vigilante. 

 

But currently, as troubling as the current circumstances are, May Parker is just confused. 

 

She started her day with a quick cup of coffee, woke Peter because he overslept _again_ , and wished him goodbye with a kiss on the cheek as she ran out the door to go to work. Her shift was busy from the moment she walked through the door, patients bustling about the ER in a consistent, heavy stream. 

 

It was about 9:30pm when she entered her apartment after a long and rather hectic day. She called to Peter to ask if he’d like take out tonight, and was met with silence. Peter knew his curfew was 9, and yet the apartment remained eerily quiet. She called out to him again, trekking down the hall to open his bedroom door, only to find it empty. 

 

After sending him an annoyed text about being late, she turned on the news, hearing stories of a huge “flying donut spaceship” in the sky. She felt her stomach drop and her soul fill with cold dread before her fingers and toes started to tingle and her world went black.

 

Now, however, she stands exactly where she last remembers being with her whole body tingling unpleasantly. Her living room is full of furniture and pictures she does not recognize, and there is a woman her age staring at her as if she were a feral intruder. An older woman screams from the kitchen, something about _Ghost! Theres a ghost!_. Before she can demand why these people are in her apartment, the woman grabs her, calling her a myriad of unfriendly names, and throws her out the door. 

 

Obviously alarmed, she reaches for her cell phone in the pocket of her scrubs only to find that it’s not there. Reigning in her panic, she runs down the stairs of the building and makes her way toward the nearest payphone. Before panicking about her apartment, before giving attention to the new chaos in the streets, before _anything else._  

 

She has to make sure Peter is okay.

* * *

“What the hell was that?” Happy whispers harshly.

 

Steven gives him a passing glance as he stands, gently wincing as the motion strains his battle-worn frame. He surveys the rest of the room, searching for any ways he can dampen sounds and dim lights. 

 

“He had a panic attack, likely caused by stress-induced sensory overload,” the doctor explains without looking Happy’s way. He firmly pulls the drapes shut before he continues, “The continuous exposure to stimuli over the past few hours surely has not been easy on him. I’ve simply put him to sleep, as it’s obvious he has yet to get any form of  significant rest since the battle.” 

 

Happy lets his eyes trail over to Peter’s now relaxed expression, pain no longer tugging harsh lines into his forehead and brow. The poor kid is bruised, and he'll likely need a shower relatively soon, but he looks so peaceful, Happy almost forgets that he was panicked about his Aunt before passing out. Happy knows that May was one of the victims of Thanos' snap, and that she would likely be incredibly panicked at the moment. It's been several hours since the battle, since Tony snapped his own fingers and decimated Thanos' army.

 

Happy knows that the Parkers' apartment was sold after they both died. He also knows that Tony kept all of their sentimental belongings in boxes in his garage at the Lake House. He sets his face in determination and turns towards Steven as the latter finishes his inspection by closing the bathroom door. Steven meets his eyes, and noticing the other man’s expression, he gives Happy his full attention, curiosity piqued. Happy levels him with a steely gaze.

 

“I need help finding someone.”

* * *

The room is completely dark and silent when Peter pries his eyes open again. The covers are tucked right up to his shoulders and he’s curled up on his side, his head surrounded by cozy pillows and he’s pleasantly warm. Sighing gently, he stretches his legs and arms, his muscles still sore, but not to the extent they had been previously. He notices his wrist brace is gone, though it is still wrapped in fresh itchy bandages.

 

He slowly rolls over, curling up on his other side and stares at the closed door. Memories are flooding back to him slowly, and for once he is thankful for his exhaustion, otherwise he’d likely be thrown into another panic attack. 

 

The world moved on. The reality of this new life is that even though trillions of lives ended, the universe still moved forward. It moved forward without _him_. Mr. Stark moved on without him, and the proof is that little girl. 

 

Peter is not the jealous type, and he’d bend over backwards to ensure that others were happy well before he considered his own well-being. However, seeing the bright eyes and huge smiles on Little Stark’s face proves that she was raised in a very warm and loving family, and that Mr. Stark obviously made it a priority that she knew she was loved. And even though he is glad that some form of peace was established after everything that happened, Peter can’t help but feel hurt. 

 

He continues to stare at the door in numbed silence, unwilling to acknowledge the shame that overcomes him from these thoughts, when sparks erupt in the middle of the room at the end of the bed. Peter shoots up into a sitting position immediately, his heart in his throat. The sparks sizzle and stretch into one of Strange’s circling portals, and soon enough the man walks through, Happy following close behind with--

 

“ _May!_ ” Peter cries, throwing the blankets off of himself in a desperate attempt to run to his aunt. Her face is already tear-stained, and she chokes on a sob as her nephew falls into her arms and he wraps his arms around her with unrelenting strength. His face is pressed into her chest and it’s as if the dam breaks, because he’s crying and he cannot seem to stop. She wraps her arms firmly around him, _holds_ him, her mouth pressed against the top of his head, and she cries with him. 

 

He’s mumbling nonsense, and he can’t even manage a single sentence without choking on wet coughs, and she can do nothing but hold him tighter. Looking up, she finds Happy and Steven are still there, though both are looking incredibly uncomfortable. She takes a shuddering breath and presses a firm kiss into Peter’s hair before she gives them a watery smile and nods. 

 

Happy bows his head in acknowledgment and turns to leave the room, Steven following close behind. 

 

Once the door is closed once again, May leads Peter back to the bed and sits him on the edge, inspecting him for any injuries. She notes his injured wrist and how he seems to be favouring his right side, and she manages to coax him into lying down against the pillows again. He’s still sniffling, but he’s doing his best to reign in his cries and calm down. He’s looking up at her through watery lashes as he takes another shuddering breath, and she sits on the side of the bed and runs soothing fingers through his messy hair. 

 

He’s beginning to relax in her presence, finally able to ignore the noises and lights in favour of focusing on the safety May provides. Ever since he was a child, she always had an _aura_ about her that radiated _calm_ and _safe_. She’s pulls the blankets over him again and kisses his forehead, and he knows that the crying has worn him out because his eyes are already drooping. 

 

She crawls into the bed beside him and he instinctively curls into her side like he’s done a thousand times before, and finally drifts into a restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time.


End file.
